A Sense of Humor
by Parazaider
Summary: The category marching band was the closest I could get with this story! It technically has marching band in it, but this short story is not based around it. This is a story about a girl given a second chance to fix a mistake in her past.


"_GOOD MORNING, SLEEPY HEADS! TIME TO WAKE UP! The weather forecast is looking beautiful, the temperature should reach the upper 80s with some clouds, but mostly clear skies for most of the day... It's now five thirty, and let's check the roads with Lisa…"_

I hit snooze, dully wondering why my alarm was going off. I hadn't set my alarm for almost two weeks. Summer vacation.

Some time later, probably two minutes or so, I heard someone calling me.

"Dana! _Dana!_ What are you doing?" I felt my covers being yanked from my body. I curled into a ball and shivered.

"Hiss summa vecashun."

"Yeah, I know," Mom laughed, throwing a pillow onto my face. "Band camp ring any bells, silly girl? Get out of bed, we have to get to the school by seven."

Groggily I sat up in bed. I didn't register my mom's last remark. She'd already left the room as I sat there in the darkness of my room, flattening down my hair with my hand.

"Mom?" I called. She poked her head back into the room.

"What'd you say I'm getting up for?"

She stared at me in disbelief. "Band camp, Dana! Remember? First day today! We're leaving in about thirty minutes, I have to get gas and some snacks for you for the bus ride – why are you staring at me like that? I know you didn't forget about band camp, you've been waiting for it all summer. Now get in the shower and let's go."

She walked out. I sat dumbfounded.

"Band camp isn't for another month and a half, Ma!"

"Get in the shower, Dana Marie!" she yelled from the kitchen.

Now I was angry. It was a Saturday in June and both my alarm and my mother had waken me up about five hours before I usually stumbled out of bed. I got up from the bed, swayed a moment, and went out to the kitchen. Mom was drinking a glass of milk. She saw me and frowned in disappointment.

"Are you saying you don't want a shower, Dana? It's a long bus ride, you know…"

"Mom," I said firmly. "Band camp is in _two_ months. August, not June. Did you set my alarm? Are you going crazy?"

"Dana, you're the only crazy person in this house. You must have hit your head on the headboard last night." She jerked her head towards the calendar on the wall. I walked over.

_Band camp – be school 7._

_August 1st. _

2005.

The first thought in my mind was, "Why does Mom have an old calendar on the wall?" Then I remembered that I'd bought her a new one, a 2006 calendar. Why wasn't it up? Hadn't she put it up just days after I gave it to her? My heart beat quickened.

"Mom, it was June 17th when I went to sleep last night."

"Well, what do you expect? I told you summer vacation would fly by..."

"Mom!" I said loudly, turning. "Could you take me seriously for like one minute of your life?"

She stared at me, wide eyed. "You're acting like you have amnesia, babe. How can I take you seriously? Get in the shower. Gas station, remember!"

She walked off towards her room.

I stood in the kitchen for minutes, my mind blank. Then I ran for my room.

Next to my bed was the night stand with my alarm, some books, papers, and usually my cell phone. I ransacked the surface for the phone frantically. Where was it? Not under any of the papers, not fallen on the floor, not under the bed – no where. I had put it there the night before. It was always there.

I could feel tears forming behind my eyes. I saw my TV remote and lunged for it. I turned on the news. In the corner of the screen it said 5:39 AM; 68 degrees; August 1st, 2005. Slowly, I sank down to the bed. Numbly, I stared at the screen until the brightness burned my eyes. _When did I get my phone?_ I thought distantly. I remembered that I received my cell phone in February of 2006 for my fifteenth birthday.

And then I remembered something else, something that nearly made my heart stop beating.

The night before I'd cried for hours. It was June 17th, the day the seniors graduated. It was the worst graduation ceremony of my life. The cause of an unspoken sorrow I'd lived with my freshman year graduated that afternoon. I saw him receive his diploma and shake hands with the principal. He looked nice in his cap and gown. He walked off the stage, and I never saw him again after that. I knew it would be the last time I'd ever see him. He was college-bound. I wanted to cry there, but I held it in until that night when I was alone in my room and the inevitable crept up on me.

This boy, Paul, was a senior I liked. I liked him most of the school year for some unknown reasons. I hardly knew him. Rarely ever talked to him. I guess it was just one of those attractions, you know? One of those attractions that you can't justify, can't explain, just feel.

He was a drum major of our marching band. And all I was to him was an inexperienced freshman, both on the field and in other aspects of life.

I thought I would never know if that's how he really viewed me. He was friendly when we talked, but never interested enough to begin conversation with me first. I was shy and soft-spoken, and I could have tried harder at beginning a friendship with Paul for the entire marching band season, but I didn't. I had every opportunity in the book to make it work, to make myself noticed, to have Paul. I let every opportunity go by. What had I been thinking? That the year would last forever? Had I really forgotten the fact that Paul would be graduating? Obviously I had, and I screwed up. The only chance I had to get to know Paul, I'd blown it. I watched him walk off the stage at that ceremony, and I realized that I would never see him again, and no words can explain the searing pain in my chest, knowing that I'd failed, knowing I would have to live with the regret.

I'd screwed up. I couldn't imagine myself being with anybody besides Paul. I couldn't imagine how marching band would be next year without him there. Knowing what was missing, knowing that things could be different if I'd just used my time with him wisely – all I could see for the future was hurt. Hurt and the inability to let go.

I cried that night. Wondering what was going through my mind while I let him go. Wondering what I could have had. My what ifs and could haves and should haves tore at me. I don't believe I'd ever cried so hard in my life. Over a boy I hardly knew. I saw it as pathetic, and yet I couldn't help it if I tried. I felt helpless. Hopeless.

I wished that I could go back in time, knowing full well that it doesn't happen because life is not a fairy tale, life is not a book, life is not a movie. Life doesn't happen that way. God wouldn't allow it. He only gives us so much time here; why should he turn back the clock just to give me a second chance? I'm sure there are billions of people who wish they could have done things differently, but does God let them turn back time to correct their mistakes? No. Why would he let me?

All the same, I wished it. Over and over in my mind, the words were branded into my brain, in my mouth, on my tongue, floating on the air. The words mixed with my tears and in the dark I laid my head on my pillow, never ceasing to wish that for once God would throw the rule book into the fire and turn back time to let me reuse all the time I'd taken for granted.

I expected to wake up the next day feeling miserable, not knowing where to go from there, not knowing what to do with myself. Sure, it was nice that school was out, but I saw Paul at school every day. Things would be different now, I knew. The idea of life without Paul frightened me.

However, I didn't get what I expected. I got this day, not a new day, but an old one, one I'd already lived. It was supposed to be dead, but here I was, reliving it. August 1st, 2005. My eyes stared into the television screen where newscasters talked about accidents and flooding in New England and border security.

I ran out of my room and into the living room. The sun was rising, turning the sky a beautiful violet and pink color. I went outside where it was humid and warm. A light breeze felt nice on my bare arms. I stepped out onto the driveway and walked to where the end of the driveway met the street. No one was awake. The street was empty. No sign of life anywhere.

I stared up into the sky. There were no clouds – just pink sky. I remembered that. I remembered driving to band camp this day and thinking about the sky, how pink it was. How was it possible? Days aren't supposed to be revisited. We get one chance to live a day and that's it. It dies after that, existing only as a memory. I looked up into the sky, wondering if God was watching me, waiting for me to speak or act. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do.

I ran back into the house, my mind humming. I jumped into a luke warm shower and finished quickly. While I dressed, I tried to remember what I did that day. Did I meet Paul? No, I hadn't met Paul at band camp. I met him after camp, at the first parade. How had I missed him? He was a drum major! Maybe I _had _met him. But why hadn't the feelings developed there?

At that moment I realized truly that I was in the past, and I had the chance to make up for wasted time. _I was given a second chance. A chance to correct my mistakes._

So, I thought faintly, maybe God is listening.

It seemed like the drive to school didn't even happen. One moment I was in the car and the next I was stepping onto the charter bus with my friends. What happened to my luggage? Did I kiss Mom goodbye? Did I already meet my squad leader?

The bus ride was, the first time it happened, three hours long. In between we stopped at a rest area to get some food or to use the bathroom. Time slowed. My feet seemed to move in deliberate slow motion; sounds disappeared. I moved sluggishly down the aisle of the bus, nearing the door. Out of nowhere, Paul got out of his seat ahead of me. I nearly bumped into him. Breath got stuck in my throat. I locked eyes with Paul, and the moment lasted for much longer than a moment. But before I could say anything, time sped up again, and in no time I had used the bathroom and returned to the bus.

The remainder of the ride was a blur. Flashing figures ran in front of me, colors swirling and dancing together or against each other. Finally, time slow when I found myself in my assigned dorm with my roommates and friends.

"Dana! Are you listening?"

"Sorry, what?" I looked at Mary who was staring at me expectantly.

"Did you want the top or bottom bunk?"

"Oh…um, bottom is fine."

"Okay. Hey, is it time to go down to dinner yet?"

I checked my watch. "Just about. Wanna go down to the cafeteria?"

We all agreed. For once, the movement of things remained consistent as we took the elevator down to the ground floor of the college campus where band camp was held every year. The memories flooded back to me in quick succession. I remembered the first time I ate a meal in the school's cafeteria. I could remember the campus and where everything was. The remainder of the day's time was uninterrupted and I did not see Paul at once that night.

I seemed to sleep for two seconds. I had taken a shower, gotten dressed, and eaten breakfast in less than five minutes. Suddenly I was on the practice field and everyone was doing jumping jacks rather slowly. Faintly I could hear the band director talking into his microphone from the scaffolding. His voice was distant and low; so low I could feel the vibrations in my chest. Far away in the front of the lines of kids I spotted Paul talking to a fellow drum major, a girl named Jolene. He was laughing; smiling a beautiful smile.

I was suddenly at the refreshment tent. Break time. The sun was beating down ferociously. I noticed I was already burning. I reached for a plastic cup of Gatorade when a hand reached for the same one at the exact same time. Gasping, I looked up into Paul's eyes.

"Sorry," he muttered, reaching for another cup.

"It's okay," I said boldly, my pulse quickening, a sick feeling rising in my gut. Bravely, I stuck my hand out. "I'm Dana. I'm a freshman. I play the clarinet."

"Oh," he said, grinning and shaking my hand. "Nice to meet you." He walked away.

My mind and heart alike fluttered.

I saw Paul again the next day before as the band walked to the music room for a full music rehearsal. I admitted secretly to God that I was surprised at my own daring. Had I really changed so much my freshman year that now I could openly speak with Paul, or was I only outspoken now that I knew what I had to do?

"So…Are you excited to be a senior this year?" I asked him the last day of camp, just before we left the college building to go to the real football field for our first performance as a new band. Parents of band kids from our school and parents of band kids from other schools at the college that week came out to watch our show and to see how far we'd come in the past seven days.

"I guess. It's a little weird."

"You gonna miss marching band?"

"Oh yeah, it's probably the one thing I won't be able to live without."

The performance was over before I could blink and I was already in the car with my mother, driving back home to finish off the remaining three weeks of summer vacation. Those three weeks felt like nothing – void of emotion, of content, of activities, of value. It flashed before me like a movie set on fast forward.

I was at the first football game. There Paul was, sitting in the bleachers, taking a break from pumping the band up. The football team was lacking one thing this year – talent. No touchdowns for the Cougars. Obviously Paul was having a rough time. He was in front of me, not talking to anyone. I remembered this day very clearly. The first time I had the chance to speak to Paul without feeling vulnerable or lame and I had thrown it out the window as if I didn't even care. Well, I cared now. I cared about nothing else.

"Paul!" I said loudly over the cheers and boos from the crowd. He turned his head, searching for the face that the voice belonged to. Finally, he found me. He smiled.

"Hi."

"How are you doing?" I yelled. The crowd was getting louder.

"I'm okay," I just barely heard. He mouthed something else, but his voice was gone. The crowd around us was so loud. Time slowed. Someone on our team scored a touch down. Had that happened the first time around? Or was everything changing now that I was doing things differently? _Was I rewriting history?_ It didn't matter; Paul was distracted by the touchdown and leapt from his seat to conduct us in the school's fight song.

The rest of the night flashed.

The rest of the games – the rest of the practices, too – were always the same. I got motion sickness from time changing gears so often. I was so busy concentrating on Paul – it was all I _could_ concentrate on. Any time I wasn't around him, time didn't care about any other events that had happened in my life. They all flashed and faded; homework assignments, projects, weekends, band concerts, birthday parties, trips to the ice skating rink, Christmas, New Year's – none of it mattered. Any time I saw Paul, it all went back to normal. I was actually speaking to Paul, letting him know that I was a person, that I existed, that I mattered. That I was someone. I had potential to be everything for him.

But something wasn't right. It still felt the same. I was always approaching him first. Initiating the conversation. Changing subjects. Thinking of questions to ask him. The only thing that changed was that I talked more.

It was Easter. The marching band would be in an Easter parade. We met at the school to get into our uniforms. I saw Paul standing near one of the band lockers talking to Jolene again. She left seconds later, to be replaced by me, whom Paul did not seem eager to be around.

"Hey, Paul. Last parade of the year, huh? It's kind of sad, isn't it?"

"Yeah." He nodded. I fiddled with the keys on my clarinet.

"Um…so…what are your plans for Easter Sunday?"

"I'm spending some time with family."

"Oh! Me too. It's pretty fun at my house for Easter. I get to see my little cousins for the whole day. Do you like kids?"

"Yeah."

I knew it. He was being distant. Uninterested. Unhappy.

"Okay…" I said, feeling the color rising in my cheeks. "I'll see you later."

I walked out of the band room and into the hallway where kids scrambled into their uniforms at last minute as to not miss the bus which would escort us to the start of the parade. Everyone and everything around me scurried and the colors danced their hurried dance again. But in the middle of it all, I walked to the front door, and I was in a different time speed. I seemed to go slower than everything else. Noise around me faded, until all I could hear was the pounding of my heart in my ears.

Time did not slow down again. Not once at the parade did it slow.

June 17th.

It came fast.

After the graduation ceremony, I found Paul with who else but Jolene. As I walked towards him, my mind raced with all that I had done since time had gone back for me, for this purpose. I had no regrets. I did everything that I was supposed to do. Any opportunity that was presented, I used it. I didn't throw anything away.

"Paul."

"Hi, Dana," Paul said, not looking directly at me. He gave Jolene a strange look, and with a smile, she kissed him on the cheek and walked away. I swallowed. It hurt my throat.

"So…How does it feel to be out of school?"

"It's fine, I guess."

All he said.

"Oh. See," I said enthusiastically, attempting to loosen the tense atmosphere, "I like to ask senior what emotion they feel more when they graduate: relief or regret."

"It's both," Paul said quickly.

"Oh…Well, everyone says that," I grinned. "But really, everyone always feels one more than the other."

"Not with me."

I frowned. Paul looked around the gymnasium, almost with a bored expression. I bit my lower lip.

"So…Are you going to college?"

"Yeah."

"Cool! When do you leave?"

"September."

"Oh, you have the whole summer still then. Hey, did you like that flash video I sent you online last night?"

"Yeah," he said, not even smiling, "it was funny."

The silence soared on the air for just a moment before it deflated and sank to the ground, where my heart had dropped and now rested underneath Paul's foot.

"Paul!" a voice shouted from far away. One of his friends beckoning. I turned to look at who it was, but couldn't tell over the crowd of blue and white gowns. When I turned back to Paul, all I saw was an empty space.

I cried that night.

I cried hard. How could I have wasted my time again? After God so generously gave me another chance? _How could I let that happen?_

Without warning, it hit me.

I hadn't done anything wrong this time. This time, I'd done everything right. Anything and everything I could have done to change Paul's feelings for me, I did it. And through all of it, nothing changed.

Nothing changed.

I was still a freshman. He was still college-bound. He was still leaving. I would still never see him again.

Then I learned that there was a reason for it all. If I hadn't gone back in time, I would have wallowed in despair for the summer, dreaming about what could have been, crying over what ifs and could haves and should haves.

And now I cried because nothing had changed – nothing save for one thing: I now knew what kind of person Paul was. I did everything in my power to make myself noticed – and I succeeded. Paul noticed me, but there was nothing I could do to make him feel the same way for me that I'd so lovingly and naively felt for him. I couldn't force a mutuality.

And I realized that it wasn't my fault.

Paul blew me off. It was his problem if he couldn't see that I was a good person and a good friend and that I _was_ someone worth his time! Triumphantly, I stood from my bed and went into the bathroom to wash my face, to dry my tears, to laugh not only at my stupidity but at God's sense of humor.

There was a reason for it all. I wasn't supposed to be with Paul. It just wasn't supposed to happen.

The next morning, I woke at ten o'clock in the morning. Frantically, I leapt from the bed and turned on my TV to the news station.

June 18th, 2006.

Slowly, I sat back down on my bed and closed my eyes, slightly smiling. _Had it all been a dream?_ It all had felt so real, but I would never know. There was no one I could ask. All I could do was laugh in that day. Laugh at the irony, and at God's wonderful sense of humor.


End file.
